


Take Me To The Top

by Kabella



Series: First Days [4]
Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Fluff, Jamming, M/M, Mick lives up to his description, Starving, bed sheets, dying hair can be a form of foreplay, it's all in a name, shitty demos, tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabella/pseuds/Kabella
Summary: Tommy and Nikki's friendship is growing, and they haven't even jammed together yet. Things are coming together though, and when Cousin Itt shows up, it gets even better.
Relationships: Tommy Lee/Nikki Sixx
Series: First Days [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819792
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Take Me To The Top

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that this follow-up to Tonight took so long. I was struggling with confidence in my writing again, and felt no desire to finish this over the course of the week. That's a long while for someone who writes everyday. I finally forced myself to pick up the Chromebook and just write. As the ideas and words started flowing, I got my groove back. I've resolved, whether it's any good or not, I just love so much when a story comes together. It gives me great satisfaction. So, here's the next bit in this TFFL mini-series. There will be one more.

Tommy actually slept soundly last night. Probably because, for once, everything in his life just seems perfect and at peace. He gets out of bed mid-morning to get started on washing his dad’s car. The sooner he starts, the sooner he’s done. 

He finishes an hour later, and his mother asks him if he could run to the market for her to get a few things. Of course he’s gonna do that. He’s eager to get over to Nikki’s apartment, but he remembers Nikki said that he sleeps in, so no big deal to throw in an extra favor for his mom. 

Once he’s finished, he calls Nikki. They exchanged phone numbers the night before. There’s no answer. Tommy tries again, wondering if he misdialed. Nikki picks up on the second attempt, answering with a groggy voice.

“Oh shit. I think that I just woke you up,” Tommy says.

“Is this Tommy?”

“Yeah. Uh, I was wondering if it was OK to come over. If not, you can call me when it’s a better time.”

“What time is it?” Nikki asked, still sleepy and hungover.

“A bit before 12. I just, um, well, I’ve been up so long, that it just seems later. I would have waited. Sorry, I guess.”

“It’s OK, man. I need to get my ass up. Just come over OK?” Nikki replies.

“Ok. Um, great. Uh, is 25 minutes good? Or is that too soon?”

“It’s fine, man. We’ll have a lot of time to jam.”

“Hey, did you call that guitarist yet?”

“Negative. I need some coffee or something. Then I’ll call.”

“I’ll bring you some. How do you like it?”

“Light.” That’s usually because he adds whiskey to it.

“Got it. See you soon,” Tommy says, hanging up. He feels like a stammering moron. He thinks that he sounded waaay too eager. Fuck. Take it down a notch, bro. The last thing he needs is to scare this guy off with his exuberance. 

What he doesn’t know is that’s one of the things that Nikki really likes about this kid. Someone has to keep the energy level up in a band. Nikki rubs his face to bring feeling to it, then stretches. He considers laying back down for a few minutes, but decides not to risk it; he’s tired enough to know that he’ll probably go out again; snoring away as Tommy is outside pounding on the door. 

Nikki puts his feet on the floor and finally resolves to rise and shine, or at least rise and exist. Nikki isn’t normally so lazy. He thinks it might be because his stress about London faltering has ebbed. He’s feeling confident about his new course, and London will soon be a distant memory. He thinks his body is telling him that it’s OK to slow down for a few days, at least until things start to move with the new band; then he won’t rest.

Nikki really wants his morning coffee. Tommy should be there soon. He’ll call the guitarist in the meantime so he at least has something to show.

“Hello,” the guitarist says, answering the phone.

“Is this Mick?” Nikki asks.

“Yep. Can I help you?”

“The name is Nikki. I saw your ad in the Recycler. I’m looking for a guitarist for my new band. If you’re still available, I’d like to get you here for an audition.”

“What kind of music?”

“Rock with metal, punk, and pop undertones. We’ll be doing originals.”

“Have you been in a band before?”

“Hey, who’s being interviewed here?” Nikki snaps.

“Did you read my description in the ad? Says ‘rude’ right in there. I need to know whether you’re worth my time. Been in a lot of shitty bands and auditioned for just as many. I know that I’m good at my craft, I need to know if you are too. I’m not going to bother if you’re some burgeoning band that hasn’t made it out of your parents’ basement yet.”

“Alright, motherfucker. I’ve been in bands. I play on the Strip to crowds. How about 4pm at my place?”

“Fine,” Mick says.

Nikki gives his address and hangs up. While a typical person might be kind of skeptical about this prick and his attitude, Nikki has a good feeling about this, and doesn’t let his pride interfere. It’s the eager, ass kisser types, who are usually not good enough. He would have suggested an earlier time, but he and Tommy haven’t even had the chance to jam together yet. They need to nail down at least one or two songs with each other so that they can see how the guitarist sounds alongside the rhythm section.

Nikki has a few more minutes before Tommy arrives, and decides that maybe he should check his appearance in the mirror and make his breath minty fresh; maybe put a shirt on.

About 10 minutes later, Tommy arrives.

“Sorry. The line at the convenience store was a few people deep. Guess it was the lunch crowd getting their gas station hotdogs,” Tommy says, handing Nikki the coffee.

As nasty as those hotdogs are, the thought of them makes Nikki hungry. There’s never much to eat around the apartment. He thanks Tommy for the coffee, opens the lid, and pours a generous swig of whiskey in the cup. He offers the bottle to Tommy.

“Uh, I’m good. A little early, you know,” the seventeen year old says.

Nikki shrugs.

“Hey, um. I feel kind of dumb asking, but how old are you? I don’t even know,” Tommy asks.

“Does it matter,” Nikki smirks.

“No, not at all, but I was just wondering. I mean I guess you’re at least 21 because you have alcohol around, right? That is unless someone buys it for you or you steal it,” Tommy says, feeling stupid now for asking.

“All of the above. I buy, I steal, and people buy it for me,” Nikki grins.

“OK. I guess. Uh, so I got my sticks ready,” Tommy says, pulling them out of his pocket, sensing he should drop the topic.

“I’m 21, man. 22 in December,” Nikki says, backhanding Tommy in the chest.

“Oh, that’s good. You look like you can be younger…. or older. I just didn’t know.”

“Why’s it good? You need me to buy you stuff?”

“No. Well, I mean, maybe. You know, I drink your beer. But I just mean that I’m kind of glad that you’re not too much older than me. I mean, it was only 2 years ago that you were a teenager too. I thought that you could even be like 25.” Tommy feels like the biggest moron right now. He’s rambling and he knows it. He must sound so dumb. But he is relieved that Nikki isn’t that much older. It makes him feel more at ease.

“I’m busting on you. What’s mine is yours. Raid my fridge, and relax; age is just an annoyance. We already got a good vibe going with each other.”

Tommy relaxes into a smile.

“So, that guitarist is coming by at 4. We should run through a few songs together,” Nikki suggests.

“Cool. You called the rude dude, right?”

“Yeah, he’s already living up to his description,” Nikki smirks.

\---------------------------------------

Tommy and Nikki jam together for a few hours, working through 2 of Nikki’s songs. They seem very satisfied by the other’s ability and style.

“I’m getting a little hungry. Maybe we should break for lunch,” Tommy says, pulling Nikki’s fridge open. “What the hell do you eat around here?” Tommy asks, seeing only beer and soda, a few slices of bread, condiments, an apple, and an open can of Chef Boyardee.

“I get by. I haven’t been to the store recently. I think that I might have a few cans of something in the cupboard. Maybe some Saltines for soup,” Nikki says, feeling slightly embarrassed. Here he is, this Sunset Strip idol in Tommy’s eyes, and he can’t afford basic necessities. Partially because a lot of his earnings go to alcohol, pills or blow, and hairspray and accessories; you know the important stuff, not like annoying bread-of-life type of stuff like food.

More and more Tommy is realizing that Nikki is really not living any sort of glamorous lifestyle. His apartment is a dump. There’s no other way to put it. Stained carpet, crumbling in the drywall, rusty window frames, mildewed tile, mismatched furniture, water stains all over the ceiling, an empty fridge. He thinks that he may have seen a roach or two scurry by. The couch, Tommy’s drum kit, and Nikki are the only sharp-looking things in the apartment. On the other hand, the only reason Tommy knows he’s better off than Nikki is because he lives with his parents, and he only has to pay them $20 a month for rent. The drummer thinks that this dilapidated studio is at least $100 a month. The money earned from shows isn’t usually a windfall. Tommy’s band only has to split the proceeds 3 ways, while Nikki’s band has to split the proceeds 5 ways. He’s going to offer to buy lunch, hoping that he can word it in a way that doesn’t embarrass Nikki.

“How’s that place on the corner?” Tommy asks.

“It’s good. Let’s go,” Nikki replies.

“Alright, let’s bring it back here so we can continue practicing. You supply the beverage, I’ll supply the food,” Tommy says, knowing that Nikki has at least a 6 pack and a few sodas in his fridge already.

“Deal,” Nikki smiles, slipping his boots on.

They each order a sandwich and Tommy grabs a bag of chips to add in. They bring it back to eat, and by the time they’re done, it’s close to 3:30. The guitarist should be arriving soon.

“What if this guitarist is shit?” Tommy asks.

“We keep looking. There’s new ads in the paper every week, or we check out other bands and steal their guitarist.”

“What about a rhythm guitarist? I heard through a friend that there’s a pretty good one in a cover band called Rockandi. We should check them out. That dude is probably dying to move on from a Top 40 gig,” Tommy says.

“Yeah. Good idea. Find out when and where they’re playing next. We gotta be on the lookout for singers too.”

“How about Nigel? He must be unemployed right now,” Tommy giggles.

“Fuck. If I could get his talent without the assholery, we’d be golden.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s no good to get your face rearranged at every show.”

“You’re telling me. My nose thanks me everyday since he’s been gone. C’mon, let’s run through this shit one more time before this cocksucker shows up.”

\----------------------

“I hear a car pulling up,” Tommy says, leaping off of his stool to look out the window. “I think this is the guy,” Tommy laughs. “C’mer Sixx. He looks like an Addams family reject.”

Nikki goes to the window. “Oh shit. You’re right. Cousin Itt in the flesh,” Nikki snickers. “Fuck! Look! He’s got stacks in the back of his ride. Let’s go help.”

Tommy and Nikki go outside. “Need a hand?” Tommy yells down from the landing.

“No, I usually carry all 3 of these fucking things up by myself, along with my guitar,” Mick says, trying to yank an amp out of the hatchback.

Tommy looks at Nikki, “Is he serious?”

“C’mon, Tom. He needs help,” Nikki says, squeezing Tommy’s shoulder as he starts down the stairs.

The duo meet up with Mick at his car. The 3 stand there for a moment eyeballing each other. “I’m Tommy. I’m the drummer.”

“And I’m Nikki, bass.”

“Mick Mars,” the guitarist says, going back to wrestling with the amp. He thinks that Nikki looks familiar, but can’t quite place him. He doesn’t remember anyone by the name Nikki. Thinks maybe he’s seen him in a band.

The 3 eventually get the amps into the tiny apartment.

“Here. I got a bare bones demo of a few of my songs on tape. Lemme play it while you set up,” Nikki says, as Mick runs cords.

Nikki brings his portable tape deck to the little table. “I got lyrics here,” Nikki says, holding up his notebook.

“Fine. You got a fucking singer?” Mick asks.

“Uh, we’re working on that. I mean, it’s literally been two days since we’ve launched. As a matter of fact, both Tommy and I have shows to finish out with our old bands. Tomorrow night is my last one.”

“Which bands”

“I’m in London,” Nikki says.

“And I’m in Suite 19,” Tommy says.

“Heard of London. Why are you leaving?”

“It’s not going in the direction I want. I fucking started it with 2 of my friends, but no one really wants to put forth much effort anymore. Once we made it to all of the clubs, my band mates got comfortable. I’m not settling for that as the top of the ladder. I want to keep stacking ladders. Besides, I want to bring some harder elements into the music, and they’re resistant.”

“And you, drummer?”

“We all seem to be pursuing different interests. I also have a show tomorrow night. Then 2 more. We all agreed to call it quits after the last booking. We have some originals, and I think that we fucking rock, but one of them wants to go softer. It’s not for me.”

“And you?” Tommy asks.

“Been in a lot of shitty bands. No one takes things seriously enough. I’m at a point where people need to shit and get their asses off of the pot. Not getting any younger, and I’m not looking to waste my talent anymore with fucking shitter sitters”

“Sounds like were all on the same fucking page,” Nikki says, as he presses play.

Mick listens. The song has potential, but the demo is shitty; homespun.

“Play it again,” Mick says. “And do a better job recording your demos next time. No one would ever listen to this crap recording.”

“It’s not like I have a fucking studio, nor can I record all of the parts myself. This was made only to give you an idea of what I have. I gotta give you something to go off of,” Nikki snarls.

“Relax, kid. It’s just facts. I didn’t say the song is shit. I said the demo recording is shit,” Mick says, as Nikki rewinds the cassette.

The demo is played again.

“OK. I fucking got it. Let’s go,” Mick says.

Tommy claps his sticks, and within moments Mick’s guitar is wailing and screaming. After a minute, Nikki puts his hand up, with a devilish smirk on his face.

“That’s exactly what we need. If you want it, you’re in.”

“You got more songs, bass player?”

“Got a bunch, but I only have 2 recorded. And I think I just realized something. We met before. You were that motherfucker who was playing slide guitar on the mic stand, who fucking disappeared on me.”

“I knew you looked familiar. Fucking KISS lover. And I didn’t ditch you, I had shit to take care of.”

“Yeah, well, we could have been rocking together already if you didn’t have some mystery shit to take of,” Nikki replies.

“Got kids. It was an out-of-state job offer. I had to pay the bills,” Mick says, while tuning his guitar.

“What’s that mean? Are we going to have kids running around here during practices?”

“They’re with their mother. I see them when I can. And I would never bring my kids to this rancid shithole and around you two fools.”

“Fuck off. Let’s just keep playing,” Nikki resolves.

“Hey, you didn’t go by the name Nikki back when I met you, did you?”

“Nope.”

“It was Fred, or something?”

“Frank,” Nikki says, furrowing his brow. “And don’t call me that. I went through the court to change it legally. Last name is Sixx, with a double ‘x’.”

‘Fine. I don’t give shit, with a double "t," Mick says.

Nikki goes to the fridge to grab bottles of beer for all.

“Mick Mars. That’s obviously not your given name, right?” Tommy asks.

“Stole it from someone,” Mick says, as a creepy smile spreads across his face. “What do you go by on stage,” Mick asks, directing his attention to Tommy.

“Uh, well…. I just go by my regular name, Tommy Bass.”

“Kinda vanilla, don’t you think?” Mick asks.

“I don’t know. It’s pronounced like the fish, but the instrument is spelled the same way. That’s kind of cool, right?”

“Only if you played bass, dipshit. How about Tommy Tom-Tom,” Mick says, with a deadpan look. Inside, he’s cracking himself up, but he won’t show it.

“Ha, that’s worse than Nikki’s suggestion of Trouble,” Tommy laughs.

“Tommy Trouble?” Mick raises his eyebrow up.

“Nah. I don’t want that fucking name to haunt me. The name alone will probably land me in jail at least once a month.”

“I hear you. The initials of my given name spell B.A.D. I wasn’t having that shit anymore.”

“Now your initials are  _ MMMMMM, _ ” Tommy says, with a dreamy look on his face. You must like when the chicks moan out your initials….  _ MMMMMM _ ”

“Go fuck yourself. Better than TB, which makes you sound like a walking disease.”

“Nope, I’m Tommy Lee Bass. T.L.B Tender Loving Boinker,” Tommy laughs.

Mick rolls his eyes. “What are you. A fucking teenager still?”

“Something wrong with that?” Tommy glares, dropping his smile.

Nikki was standing back, enjoying the banter between these two. “Mick, this here young Tommy Lee Bass, is the best fucking drummer gracing the Strip,” Nikki says, coming up alongside Tommy, slinging his arm around him. “We got the best of everything here. Fuck age. Doesn’t matter here.”

“That’s great. Now what are you going to do about finding the best fucking singer to join this band of misfits?”

“You know anyone?” Nikki asks. “Maybe someone who looks like us? By the way, Tommy, I’m dying your hair black-blue tonight.”

“Huh?” Tommy questions.

“”Fucking look at us! This is what I’m talking about. I’ve got everything planned out, from our look to our sound.”

“So we should all look the same?” Mick asks.

“OK. Maybe that’s not so great. Maybe our singer should stand out? Who do you know who looks different?”

“The singers who I know are all dinosaurs,” Mick says.

“Hmm,” Nikki says, stroking his chin. “Tommy and I were also discussing the possibility of finding a rhythm guitarist,” Nikki reveals.

“Don’t need one,” Mick responds.

“That second guitar can offer a richer sound,” Nikki argues.

“I’m telling you, with me, you won’t miss it. It’s one less motherfucker to get along with and to split the pay with.”

“We’ll see. You might be right, but there’s one that we at least want to check out. Just gotta find out when that band is playing,” Nikki says.

“You’ll soon realize that I’m always right. Been around the block with these things quite a few times,” Mick replies. “More isn’t always better.”

“Alright. Whatever. Let’s get back to it. Another couple goes with this song, and we’ll move on to the next.”

\----------------------

The trio jam together well into the night; Tommy and Mick assisting Nikki with bringing some of his songs to life.

“Alright, kids. I gotta get home to the old lady,” Mick sighs, placing his guitar into the case.

“You married?” Tommy asks.

“To that bitch? No, thank god.”

Tommy laughs. “She must be good in bed then, if you're keeping her around.”

“No. One of the worst lays of my life. I just need a place to live.”

“OK, then. Uh, we should try to get together as often as possible. We got shows tomorrow. You can come to one if you want. Otherwise, let’s get together the next day,” Nikki suggests.

Tommy purses his lips, but not for anyone to see. The day after next is his birthday. Nikki kind of alluded to a celebration of sorts. Maybe after the practice, he figures. Or maybe he forgot.

“Is this dump tight? Can I leave my stack here without worry of it getting lifted?”

“Yeah man. It will be safe. Looks shitty, but I have no problems here,” Nikki replies.

“OK, then. Call my fucking number when you’re ready to get this shit hoppin,” Mick says, putting trust in his new bandmates that they’re not gonna hock his amps. “I prefer you not to touch my shit. I don’t gotta worry about you two kids fencing my goods for drug money or rent money? Coz I got goons, man, that will flatten your punk asses and slit your throats.” [he actually doesn’t].

“We’re cool. You know me from a few years ago. If I were that type of asshole, I would have been dead by now,” Nikki says, thinking about the time he stole his roommate’s piano to pawn after an apartment fire. He’s not like that anymore. These two guys here are going to become his lifeblood very soon, and you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

“And don’t look at me,” Tommy says, putting his hands up. “I’ve only ever stolen gum. Oh, and condoms,” Tommy snickers.

“Fucking teenager,” Mick says, as he heads out the door with his guitar.

“Well, he’s pleasant. Isn’t he?’ Tommy says.

“Fuck him. I can deal. He’s just what we need. Now come on. We’re dying your hair tonight.”

“It’s already kind of dark,” Tommy says.

“Needs to be black, baby,” Nikki winks.

Tommy melts at the pet name, and the wink. “I’m a little hungry though. Typically I would have eaten dinner by now.”

“Did you grow up with the fucking Cleavers or something? What, do you have a sit down dinner promptly at 6pm every evening?”

“Not exactly. Well kinda. Maybe. But, hey, I’m just the hungry sort, I guess.”

“Let’s get the dye in. I’ll then treat you to a gourmet meal of canned soup and crackers while the dye sits.”

\-----------------

Tommy and Nikki are in the crappy little bathroom together. The first thing that Tommy notices is that the sink is already splattered with signs of black hair dye.

“Take your shirt off and put this towel around your shoulders,” Nikki says, handing Tommy a black stained towel, as he’s bending down to find the extra box of Nice N’ Easy Blue-Black hair dye in the sink vanity. “Your mom isn’t going freak over this, will she?”

“No man. Of all of the shit that they’ve seen me do, this is nothing.”

“Just checking. Things seem a little bit like Mayberry over there from what I sense. I don’t want to be responsible for any parental heart attacks.”

“You see me as some goody-two-shoes, don’t you?”

“Is that offensive?” Nikki says, as he preps the bottle of dye.

“No, but it’s not like what you think. We’ve got some family issues. I mean, my dad threw some punches at me.”

“Sit on the shitter,” Nikki says, motioning with his hand. “I don’t think you know what true family issues are. My fucking dad left when I was about 3. And my mom paid more attention to her boyfriends and partying than me. I raised myself,” Nikki says, as he stands in front of Tommy, pushing the drummer’s head down towards him, so that he can start squirting dye onto his crown. “I was actually with my grandparents a lot. Kind of had a gypsy lifestyle with them; never staying too long in one place. Everywhere from Idaho to Mexico.”

“Sorry, man. So, what brought you to L.A.?” Tommy asks, reveling in the fact that his face is brushing up against Nikki’s torso.

“Passion. I wanted to do this. Wasn’t gonna happen if I kept my ass in Idaho,” Nikki replies. “Fuck. Do you mind if I remove my shirt too? When I get towards the front of your head, I’m gonna wind up getting dye on my shirt. Doesn’t come out easily in the wash.”

“That’s cool, man,” Tommy says, in a nonchalant tone. Actually speaking of passion, he’s dizzy with it right now. Holy fuck. His face is pressed up on the bass player’s toned chest. Tommy is tempted to start licking him. He wouldn’t dare, but Nikki must surely feel his spirited breaths pouring out on his skin.

Nikki works the dye into Tommy’s scalp with his gloved fingers. Tommy doesn’t know it, but Nikki knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows the kid’s sweaty forehead is making contact with his bare abs. It’s titillating. It is true about why he removed his shirt, but conveniently there’s another benefit to doing so. If Tommy tilts his eyes downward, he may notice a bulge in the front of Nikki’s pants. “How long have you been playing in bands?”

“Since I was 16, but I’ve been hitting drums since I was a little kid.”

“Where’d you learn the tricks?” Nikki asks, tilting Tommy’s head up so that he can start in the front.

“Uh, well, don’t judge, but high school marching band. It was kind of boring and repetitive. I taught myself tricks. I just wanted to play drums as much as I could.”

“That’s cool. Play anything else?”

“Piano, and…. oh shit… don’t judge again…. Um, the accordion.”

“Who the fuck learns the accordian? Did you walk up and down your suburban street singing _O Sole Mio_ for quarters?”

“I know, corny. I just wanted the challenge. It’s harder than it looks, and you gotta know the keyboard. I think it all lends to me being a better musician.”

“Such a geek,” Nikki laughs.

“Bet you couldn’t play it,” Tommy snaps, feeling defensive.

“Relax. I’m just busting you. I’m sure you can run circles around me with your skills. You hear me play the bass? I’m no virtuoso. I know I have room for improvement. My songwriting is where I put my main focus. Your skills, Mick’s skills, and my songwriting, that’s where the money is. We’re gonna make millions on this shit.” 

“That would be nice. I’d be happy to start in the hundreds though.”

Nikki grabs a hunk of Tommy’s hair and pulls his head back so that Tommy is looking up at him. “It’s gonna happen, man. I’m serious about this shit. Millions…. mark my fucking words.”

“Maybe we can afford to get our hair dyed at a salon by then, and get some pampering, where they don’t rip chunks of your hair out,” Tommy jokes.

“What, you don’t think this is pampering?” Nikki says, sporting a smirk and arching an eyebrow, as he eases up his firm grip on Tommy’s hair. “Just tell me what else you want my hands to do.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s glad Nikki lets go of his hair so that he can downshift his gaze. Fuck… he can think of about a million things that he’d like the bass player to do to him with his hands. And yeah, he’d definitely rather have Nikki do this, than some salon chick. “Uh...um… well, it’s fine. You’re getting those hands in all of the right places.”

Nikki smiles. He wants his hands all over this drummer’s body. He’s holding back, not only because of the messy dye that will get all over the place, but because he’s determined to wait until this kid is 18. “I’m a pro. I cut hair too,” Nikki says, as he starts to work the dye into the length of Tommy’s hair.

“Heh, somehow, I don’t trust you with scissors.”

“I cut my own fucking hair. Think I’m gonna spend money for someone else to do it? You’ll learn to trust me, scissors or no scissors, Nikki says, pushing Tommy’s face back into his torso.”

“Uh huh,” Tommy breaths. He’s about done. He thinks he may have busted a nut in his pants, or at least he’s liable to. God, can this fucking guy be anymore tempting, as he rubs his strong hands all over Tommy’s head and through his hair.

“I think it’s just about covered. A little more to make sure. Then…. since we’re on the pampering agenda, I’m going to cook you dinner.”

“Can’t wait. Canned soup and stale crackers is exactly what I think about when I dream of luxury and pampering,” Tommy snickers.

“Hey, those fucking crackers are crisp. I just bought them like a month ago. And wait until you see how I stir the soup. Turns into a lucious, velvety bowl that you’ll crave.”

“You’re making me hungry now.” Hungry for you, Tommy thinks to himself.

“I’m hungry too,” Nikki says, running his tongue along his lips.

Tommy can only wonder if Nikki did that to be a tease. Fuck…. 

“C’mon. You’re done,” Nikki says, taking a step back, pulling the cheap gloves off that come with the dye kit.

“Dude, your abs,” Tommy says, pointing to the black dye streaked across them.

“That’s why I took my shirt off,” Nikki says, as he moistens a black-stained wash cloth with warm water, rubbing a bar of soap on it. He tilts Tommy’s face up by the chin, and dabs it across his hairline and ears first. Then he wipes his abs down, still right in front of Tommy’s face.

“Perfection,” Nikki smiles. He lays the washcloth down and goes out towards the kitchen. Tommy follows; hair saturated with blue-black dye and a towel around his shoulders.

\-----------------------

Nikki heats up soup on the stove. It’s nothing special; chicken noodle, and the crackers  _ are _ stale. Tommy doesn’t care. Anything would taste good at this point. He was starved. He’s content to just putting something in his belly. Something that Nikki Sixx cooked for him, and happy to just sit and have conversation.

“I’m gonna have to break down my drum kit tonight,” Tommy laments. “I need it tomorrow night.”

“I figured. I’ll help you.”

“Once we’re done with our shows, I guess I can keep it here, if that’s OK.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I don’t need any space for living anyway. I love running the obstacle course between your drums and Mick’s amps. Keep me on my toes.”

“I’m taking note of your sarcasm. Are you sure you’re OK? I can keep it in my van in between practices.”

“Joking, man. Besides, where would you bring the girls to fuck if your van is always full?”

“I can bring them here. Your couch looks decent for fucking.”

“You bring them here, I join in. Just warning you,” Nikki says with a sly grin.

“I think we can make a good tag team,” Tommy says, biting his bottom lip, as he tries to stifle a wide smile. 

“I bet we can do a lot of damage together,” Nikki says, already starting to feel a tight friendship connection blossom between them. It’s starting to feel like they’ve known each other for ages. It just seems easy and not coerced. 

“We gotta come up with a buddy system when it comes to the hunt for pussy,” Tommy suggests, feeling the very same things as Nikki. He’s still nervous around him, but it’s not so much the star struck thing anymore, it’s the attraction.

“C’mon, slurp that piss down. We gotta get that shit out of your hair,” Nikki says, putting his bowl in the sink.

Tommy puts the bowl up to his mouth, and tilts his head back to down the rest of the soup. 

“Head to the bathroom. I’ll be right there.”

Tommy steps into the bathroom and looks in the mirror. His hair just looks wet. Maybe it’s darker. It’s hard to tell right now. 

Nikki returns with a bed pillow and puts it on the floor next to the bathtub. Tommy first thought is to lean his head back on it and lay down so Nikki can get on top of him. He has a vivid fantasy for one hot minute before Nikki snaps him out of it.

“Kneel on that, and hang your head under the tub faucet.”

The water is already on. Tommy didn’t even notice as he just took a mind trip. He positions himself as Nikki requested, and the bass player runs his fingers through Tommy’s wet hair under the stream of warm water to rinse the dye out. Tommy just sees a flood of dark water swirling down the drain from his vantage point, enjoying the feeling of Nikki’s fingers in his hair, and his body pressed up behind his. After a few minutes the water is running clear. Nikki shuts it off, and hands Tommy a clean towel. 

“Here. Wrap your head or use it to dry it with. You can shampoo it in about 10 or 15 minutes. Then use the conditioner,” Nikki says, holding up the miniature bottle that came with the dye.

Tommy just nods. Too steamed to say anything.

\------------------------

10 minutes passed by as Tommy just sat in a chair in the living room. While Tommy would love for Nikki to shampoo and condition his hair, he’s not sure he can take it anymore. Nikki’s body pressing up against his is going to bring about an action that Tommy won’t be able to undo. He’s mostly convinced that Nikki has something for him as well, but he’s also nervous that he might just be a tease. 

“I was just thinking that it might just be easiest if I hop in the shower really quickly,” Tommy says, feeling that he just needs time to decompress, not to mention washing off his sweaty, hormonal body.

“Knock yourself out. Shampoo is on the shower. But you have to use the conditioner that comes with the dye. Don’t forget,” Nikki replies. God, he wouldn’t mind joining or at least watching, but won’t. Maybe down the line. Control and patience, Sixx.

As Tommy is in the shower, Nikki starts to break down some of the drum kit. He’s not sure if Tommy has a special way or sequence of breaking it down. He doesn’t want to take apart anything that Tommy might not take apart himself, so he just sticks to the obvious things; folding the stool, putting the cymbals in their cases, and collapsing the stands. That’s about it. Just as he’s laying the last of the stands flat, Tommy emerges from the bathroom.

“Holy shit, that felt good,” Tommy blares, collapsing on the couch.

“What do you think about the dye job?”

“Hard to tell. Not until my hair is dry.”

“I got a blowdryer.”

“It’s OK. My hair is full and takes forever to blow dry. I’m actually pretty tired. I was up early today doing shit for my parents. I’m gonna veg for a few, then get to the drum kit.”

“Fine. Uh, I already collapsed your stool and took down the cymbals,” Nikki says.

“Thanks, man. That’s a help. Less that I have to do.”

“No problem. Lemme just wash those dishes from dinner. Then whenever you’re ready to get to it, I’ll help you.”

Nikki takes a few minutes at the kitchen sink to wash the bowls, spoons, and pot. He sets them in the drying rack. Upon walking back into the living room, he sees that Tommy has crashed out on the couch.

He smiles. Tommy is just too fucking adorable. He’s fine with him sleeping there, but it crosses his mind that his parents might be expecting him home.

Nikki kneels down in front of Tommy, and attempts to nudge him awake.

Tommy sucks in a sudden breath as he opens his eyes. “Oh shit. I must have--”

Nikki puts his finger to Tommy’s lips. “It’s fine. You can crash here. I was just concerned that your parents will be worried if you don’t come home.”

“They’re good… thanks,” Tommy says, as he closes his eyes again. He’s back out within just a few seconds.

Nikki goes to his bedroom for a blanket for Tommy. He only has a sheet and his comforter. He takes the comforter, carries it out to the living room, and lays it on top of the exhausted drummer. Nikki makes a pitstop in the kitchen to grab his whiskey bottle, and also scoops up his notebook on the way back to his bedroom. He turns the lights off, but flips the bathroom light on, in case Tommy wakes up, so won’t be pitch black for him.

\-------------------------

Tommy blinks his eyes open. He immediately jolts up into a sitting position, momentarily forgetting where he is. He takes a few deep breaths as he takes in his surroundings, scanning the room for Nikki. Tommy’s watch reads 7:45. He determines that Nikki must be asleep in his bedroom. It’s fucking early. He lays his head back down on the couch. As much as the thought of more sleep is beckoning him, he’s pretty certain that he’s not going to be able to fall asleep again. There’s something about waking up in this shitty apartment that makes him giddy. 

Tommy continues to lay on the couch, lost in a daydream for a few minutes before getting up. He knows that he still needs to break his drums down and get them out to the van. He’s also aware that he should probably get home soon. It’s far from the first time that he’s stayed out all night, but he knows that his parents still worry. He gets up, and folds the comforter, then steps into the bathroom. Morning piss, and he wants to check out his hair.  _ Wow _ , Tommy thinks to himself. It’s a lot darker than he thought it could ever be. He likes it. It’s gonna look even better when it’s styled. 

Tommy leaves the bathroom and can see that Nikki’s bedroom door is cracked open. He walks over to it, and pushes it open slightly more. He sees the bass player asleep on his bed. He’s tucked himself into a ball, underneath a thin sheet. It looks like he’s trying to keep himself warm. Tommy realizes that Nikki gave his only blanket to him. He gets the comforter from the couch, and brings it back to Nikki, spreading it out over him. Without waking up, Nikki instinctively pulls it around himself. Poor guy was uncomfortably cold all night. Tommy feels badly, but it still warms his heart that Nikki let him have the blanket.

He returns to the living room to break the drum kit down, trying to do it as quietly as possible. He’s done in about 10 minutes, and now needs to bring them out to his van. Tommy creaks the front door open. The sun is shining strongly already. It’s gonna be a warm fall day. The sun feels good. Tommy feels pretty alert and alive now. Waking up here was a great start to his day. 

It took several trips, but eventually the drums are all packed away in the van. Tommy goes back into the apartment. He briefly toys with the notion of waking Nikki up to say goodbye, but decides to let him sleep. He drafts a quick note instead.

_ “Morning Nikki, _

_ Thanks for letting me crash here. And thanks for the blanket. I woke up early, and got my drums packed up. Good luck with your show tonight. I hope things go well with the break-up. I’ll call you later today before our shows for a little pep talk. See you at practice tomorrow.  _

_ Psst - don’t forget that it’s someone’s birthday tomorrow…. You promised me cake. _

_ Tommy Lee Bass _

_ Oh, and I love my fucking hair. We look like twins now! We’re going to be a dream team.” _

Tommy leaves the note on the little table, underneath his drum sticks [he has extras], then steps out, and quietly closes the door behind him.

**END**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fact: Nikki did all of the dye jobs and hair cuts for the band in the early day, including his own.


End file.
